A Weird Kind Of Thank You
by JessicaJ
Summary: An encounter in the kitchen changes everything, and leaves her wanting more.


**Just to confirm, this is not a new chapter**. I just felt that I had to re-write it. My good friend Liam suggested that the timing with Cloud arriving and interrupting the passion kind of shattered the tension, so I wanted to have another go at this.

_It is an old story, so it might be nice to get a chance to show off with my more honed skills._

As he came to stand behind her, his chest pressed against her back, the sharp inhalation of breath she took caused her shoulder blades to heighten the contact. Her fingers were numbing around the tumbler of water she clutched limply in her hand, the glass slowly slipping, lubricated by the perspiration on its surface; for that had been all she had come for- a glass of water. The kitchen had been dark, and silent, containing no indication whatsoever that it were hiding something from her.

Then he had emerged out of the shadows, bringing a bubble of fear to her lips, manifested in the form of a scream; his palm had been firm over her mouth, his lips at her ear confirming his identity sending involuntary shivers down her spinal column.

Hard hipbones, digging into the flesh of her waist, points of focus for her wandering mind. What was happening? She dare not breathe out, shakily setting the glass down in fear of dropping it, her other hand reaching out rather feebly to grasp the sink tightly with whitening knuckles. She never quite knew what he was thinking, and he frightened her a little. More predominantly though, his presence thrilled her.

The silence was heavy, crushing her already-burning lungs, Should she perhaps say something, to break it, or should she allow it to remain, tangible and yet fragile as it was?

Could he tell what she was thinking? She'd often maintained that he could; it was hard to ignore the sense of trepidation that seemed to ghost her in his presence, the notion that he were extracting and dissecting all her thoughts, her innermost desires… As if he knew she'd been thinking about _him_ for days since his arrival.

She couldn't have avoided him forever. She should have known better than to think she'd escaped his notice. He never miss anything, Vincent.

After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke.

"Aren't you going to say something?" His breath was warm, sending tiny waves of involuntary pleasure rippling beneath her skin. She felt hot and yet cold, at once. She felt breathless, and light-headed. She didn't even bother to kid herself into thinking he didn't notice.

Fingertips brushed at the level of her barely-modest nightshirt, kissing her thighs gently. The breath that forced its way past her lips, swollen from subconsciously biting down on them, was most definitely audible. At her sudden movement to steady herself, she felt his hair brush against her cheek.

Was it an accident? Definitely not; she was used to the train of thinking that went something along the lines of 'too good to be true'.

Their presence remained, tracing their way gently, slowly, ever so slightly, further up, and tantalisingly, inwards. The heat culminating on her neck spread to her cheeks, as she struggled not to let _too_ pleasured a breath pass her lips again. Closing her eyes, she let out a controlled breath through her nose, focussing on the path of his wandering fingertips. The pressure increased, as if testing her, and she did nothing to oppose their movement, nor to suggest that he was crossing the line.

Vincent wouldn't do anything like this if he knew she'd stop him.

He made a sound- perhaps a sigh of frustration, or maybe it was an amused huff- then his other arm snaked around her waist, purposefully dragging over the fabric that covered her abdomen, causing it to hitch up ever higher. She was pulled back to lean almost entirely against him, her head resting back against his steady shoulder, her face turned into his neck, daring to allow her lips to brush against his warm, tantalising skin. His scent washed over her, clean, musky, and it was an aphrodisiac to her. Parting her lips, she could _almost_ taste him, desperate suddenly to do so. She needed him, as if were the only substitute to the air that was suddenly absent from her tiny bubble; The tiny bubble that only she and Vincent occupied.

God she wanted him, no needed him. It'd been driving her crazy since he'd arrived here with those eyes, suddenly different, questioning; with that lithe body of his, hard and untouchable.

"I've wanted to…" He paused, his lips brushing her ear, teasing her earlobe with gentle contact and lingering moist breathing. He knew how his teasing was making her feel. "…do something for a while now…" his preposition hung in the air like fog, and she would gladly get lost in it. But she'd play his game a little longer. She wanted to see what Vincent could really do.

"What?" she found it difficult to swallow. He shifted his lower body closer, his erection pressing into her lower back.

He didn't answer her. Instead he slid his hand that final long stretch up to the top of her thigh to the edge of her underwear. She silently thanked the gods for the fact that she was wearing the softest lace pants that money could buy. His fingers came into contact with the bud of nerves between her legs, aware that her arousal had provided enough lubricant; she was surging, hot, and wanting.

This was beyond anything.

Shifting the lace aside almost forcefully, she unashamedly gasped against his neck, her knees near-giving way as his fingers slid past her folds, the sensation knocking both her breath and her inhibitions clean out of her. She didn't care anymore. She didn't have any reserves; she wanted him hard and fast, right there and right now. Everything else could wait.

Reaching behind her with a fumbling hand, she began to tease him in return, aware that his movements between her thighs were becoming gradually more restless, the white-hot burning sensation building up inside her before she could stop it.

Jerking free of his vice-like grip, she whirled around, taking him firmly by the front of his shirt and crushing her wanting mouth against his, tugging firmly on his bottom lip with her teeth, until he grunted in response, pressing forwards so her body became crushed between him and the countertop. He explored her mouth with his tongue, moaning against her as her thigh slid between his, aggravating him. She could play at that game, too.

Breaking the contact of their mouths suddenly, he lowered his hands to cup her thighs, aggressively lifting her and seating her atop the counter, undressing her completely with a flurry of expert hands.

There was no turning back now, though she hadn't really had the time, nor the lighting to appreciate his body; that would have to wait until next time, she supposed.

She reached between them to unbuckle his belt, shifting fabric aside to grasp him firmly, guiding him to her entrance. She couldn't stand the tension anymore, couldn't wait for him any longer. Entering her, he released a low growl as her tight, moist walls closed around him.

She allowed her head to lean back, exposing her throat, her arms locked behind his neck, as he began a firm, yet urgent rhythm. It became steadily harder, until every little breath turned into an uttered gasp, a stifled moan. His lips traced her neck, his tongue worrying the sensitive part of her earlobe, her breasts, and exploring her mouth.

The position was becoming a little uncomfortable, though; he must felt it too, for his groans were tinged with frustration. She wanted him faster and harder, wants which their predicament wouldn't allow. Sheathing her against him without breaking the deep kiss they were engaged in, he turned around, fumbling with his hands until they found purchase at the kitchen table.

It was cool against her back as he lay her down upon its surface, though she soon forgot about it as he began to increase the rhythm of his movements, their flesh meeting audibly with each stroke, sweat beading upon his torso with the exertion.

She ran her fingers through his damp hair, gripping it tightly as she threw back her head, legs braced around him. Their bodies slotted together perfectly, their mingling sweat serving to intensify the sensation of his hard hip bones sliding past her thighs, aggravating her deepest pleasure points.

She tightened her muscles, aware of his deep guttural sigh of pleasure, almost desperate, begging her for more. Her nails traced lines along the curvature of his back, their journey drawing from within him a profound moan of gratification.

And her orgasm was suddenly there, catching her off guard, a loud moan escaping her lips, her back arching, forcing her breasts against him, as she felt him climax within her.

The aftershocks of her orgasm dying away with tiny spasms of her spine, she'd never felt so boneless, so devoid of worry. They both paused, gazing at one another in silence, ears strained for any sounds above them. A creak.

They bolted apart, and Tifa had never gotten dressed as quickly in her life, her body complaining at the sudden shift of activity. She turned to face a bewildered, bed-headed Yuffie in the doorway, a heavy ornament in her hand.

"Geez Tif, Whadaya think you're doin?" Yuffie sighed with relief, satisfied that it was not an intruder, though she was looking at Tifa and Vincent suspiciously, aware of how out of breath the former was.

"Vincent heard me get up and followed me downstairs and... he scared me." She finished, somewhat lamely. Silence hung in the air. Tifa dreaded what would be said, should she suspect them. But, much to her relief, Yuffie laughed.

"Creepy Vamp, Vinnie, followin' women around in the night. I'm going to bed."

And with that she retreated back to her bed, her grumblings audible as she trudged up the stairs.

Vincent gave her a knowing smile, turning to Tifa once more. "You should probably get some sleep, too." He remarked, picking up the glass of water that she had previously neglected, and draining it in one.

"Shame; I was going to suggest staying up." She raised a suggestive eyebrow, pleased at his sudden surprised expression. "I know somewhere quiet where we can go…" Her fingertips wandered up his torso, beneath his shirt. "And we won't be disturbed."

"Oh, really?" He quirked a brow, though he knew he wasn't doing a good job at hiding his interest. Being with her once just wasn't enough.

She only smiled knowingly, heading over to the back door and grabbing her coat. "Let's go."

He laughed softly. "I don't like to keep a lady waiting."

The back door closed softly after them.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

fin


End file.
